image [https://i.imgur.com/15eGPa6.jpg]

dog-watches – Half watches of two hours each.

image [https://i.imgur.com/QmUT23y.jpeg]

IT WAS A little past noon when Sargento Agustín Escajeda spotted the white sail on the horizon, and rang the bell twice to alert the men higher up the fort walls. Escajeda stood on the balcony of the fort’s second level. He paid the incoming ship no other mind, it was out of his hands for the moment as he continued to scan the horizon with his spyglass. He saw no other sails on the horizon. It was passing strange that a three-master ought to be coming into port on its own, when no shipments were scheduled for the week. Still, there was any number of reasons why a ship might be coming in from the sea unannounced, not the least of which was that they were lost.

Escajeda shifted his halberd, which he carried as a display of his rank as sergeant, to his right shoulder, and rang a second bell, this time in a pattern that alerted the squad of ten men down on the beach to deploy to the docks and be ready in case the ship came into their tiny cove. He could see the soldiers down below, so tiny they were almost like ants, rapidly grabbing their muskets off the racks and assembling in a line. They were easily spotted in their pure-white uniforms, somewhat stained brown from so much time in the sand.

From his tower, Escajeda scanned the horizon one more time. No other ships emerged. He looked through his spyglass at the incoming vessel, and tensed a little when the ship slowly began to reel in its sails and dropped anchor half a mile out. The ship heeled and turned, momentarily showing its gunports, thankfully shuttered—not that they would have been able to reach at this range—and then he saw its transom, a more curved shape than a Spanish vessel. And its escutcheon, where the vessel’s name was written, only confirmed it.

He rang six bells in a pattern that relayed to the squad at the docks that the ship was of English design. That didn’t mean she was English, she might be recently captured by Spanish or French, but Escajeda thought it unlikely because he saw no damage whatsoever.

Escajeda looked through the spyglass and tried to make out the ship’s name. Looked to be Elizabeth.

Three huge longboats were dropped into the water, and the Elizabeth’s crew rowed casually to shore. Escajeda moved his spyglass between the boats, the ship, and the docks. On the ship, all the men appeared dressed in tunics with red handkerchiefs wrapping their heads. So, privateers then. There was a mix of whites and blacks, which wasn’t uncommon. What was uncommon, however, was that one of the three longboats carried a woman. She sat at the stern of the rear boat, parasol blocking a midday sun. She appeared of slender form, in a white dress with blue embroidery, and she wore a wide-brimmed bergère hat that Escajeda’s wife had told him was fashionable in Paris—his wife wanted one herself, and had asked on several occasions.

That was passing strange. He understood that the English often felt a woman on a ship brought bad luck. Many Spaniards felt the same way, but certainly the English were even more superstitious about such things—for instance, they wouldn’t have bananas on board because those brought bad luck, and they wouldn’t have more than three cats on board because that also brought bad luck.

If Agustín Escajeda thought anything else about the scene, it was that these English had foolishly sailed into unfriendly waters, and if there was anything amiss, his senses didn’t detect it. Their cove was kept off most charts, and therefore secret. The fort itself was made to look old and disused, the docks around the inlet built to look abandoned or occupied by poor fishermen. He surmised these English had gotten lost in some storm, and now thought they’d found some sort of refuge. They couldn’t be more wrong. If Capitán Del Campo didn’t like the cut of their jib, these people might be tossed into the dungeons in the hills behind the fort, and never leave this place again.

____

Capitán Santiago Andres Del Campo stood at the edge of the dock, waiting with erect posture, thumbs in his belt, and with nine armed men behind him. Their rifle stocks were tucked firmly in their shoulders, ready to aim, but at present their barrels were pointed at the water. Del Campo himself carried no rifle, but wore a brace of pistols. Upon seeing the boats, he had the dockworkers clear off a pair of feluccas to admit their guests.

Behind him, rising high above the beach, were the five tiered levels of Bateria de la Lanza, a fort of uncommon power and secrecy. Each level of the fort was like the steps of a giant staircase, each with a clear view of the inlet, and watched by a regiment of thirty men and cannoneers whose battery faced the sea. The fort was made to look disused, but all men were under arms, with cannons ready and rifles primed, prepared to deal with the potential threat.

Del Campo was an even-tempered man, with nearly twenty years in service, almost all of it in Porto Bello, which had hardened him to the travails of blundering sailors that came into Cuervo Cove—for it had happened quite a few times over the years—and he stood ready to detain, arrest, or even shoot the newcomers if they so much as flinched the wrong way. The secrecy of Bateria de la Lanza must be preserved at all cost.

So far, the incoming boats and their crews appeared ordinary. But then the two boats at the front moved towards the dock, leaving Del Campo a full view of the third boat at the rear and the radiant beauty that sat at the stern, while twelve sweating sailors rowed her in. The white-and-blue parasol matched the embroidery patterns of her dress, and she kept it low, every so often dipping it so that it covered her eyes. Her mouth she covered with a kerchief. Doubtless, she had been kept in a special cabin while aboard the Elizabeth, to prevent her distracting the men. Likely, she wasn’t used to their odour, their vulgar language, their raunchy behaviour.

“Boat your oars,” called a man on the first boat. A short but stout man, with long, black, stringy hair. His mangy scalp had random bald, pink patches. The men on each boat pulled in their oars. They were all badly sunburned, skins red as paint. Except for the woman. The woman at the back raked her eyes across the Spanish dockworkers, and for a moment Del Campo caught a look of fright in her expression.

Part of him was already taken by her pale skin, her dainty features, few as he could spot from here, for she still held the parasol and covered her lips and nose with the kerchief.

Del Campo unconsciously squared his shoulders, and turned his chin up in a haughty expression of masculine authority. He moved quickly to the boats, and stood at the edge of the dock, looking down on them. All of them looked beleaguered and bedraggled, but as far as he could see they had no sign of the yellow flesh—they were not struck by the Disease that was said to plague England. “Who is the captain here?” he said. The Spanish Army insisted its high-ranks learn English and Dutch for the sake of trade, warnings, and interrogations.

“That’d be me,” said the short fellow with stringy hair. “Hello…er, hola, Captain. It is Captain, isn’t it? If I’ve got my ranks right.” He gestured at the golden buttons on Del Campo’s jacket.

“You have it right. What is your name?”

“Captain Bonnehill, sir. David Bonnehill. And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Capitán Del Campo of Guarda del Rey.”

Bonnehill brightened. “Viejos? The King’s Guard!”

Del Campo suppressed a smile of surprise and pride. He did not expect a merchantman or privateer (whichever these belonged to) to recognize what it meant. He’d only said it perfunctorily, as a matter of establishing the power balance. “Indeed, Captain,” he replied. Del Campo’s eyes moved carefully over the other sailors, and flitted momentarily to the woman at the back of the third boat. She stared at him a moment, then sheepishly looked away. Something stirred in him, and it did not escape his notice that his own men were gazing in her direction. Porto Bello had its courtesans and twice a month these men were allowed to go and spend their money however they liked in the many insalubrious hotels that were inland, but no courtesan in Porto Bello dressed like that. Not one could.

“May we come ashore?”

Del Campo looked back at the little Englishman. He nodded to two of his riflemen, who extended hands to help Captain Bonnehill out of the boat and onto the dock.

“How did you come here? And why is your ship docked at the entrance to our cove?” asked Del Campo, trying to keep his stubborn eyes from looking at the pale beauty. He could see now she had golden locks, which fell from underneath her wide-brimmed hat, with ribbons and all. And now that the breeze was coming in, he thought he caught her perfume above all the malodourous sailors. Cherry blossoms and honey.

Bonnehill sighed, wiped his brow, and pointed out to his ship. “Well, that’s the embarrassing thing, Captain. We was blown off course—way off course, by the look o’ this place, because I ne’er saw it on any map o’ mine. Hoo!” He laughed. “Odd place yeh got here. Ne’er seen a fort like it, faith. We was on a trading expedition. East India Company. Got the papers here,” he said offhandedly, pulling them from his inside coat pocket and handing the tattered clump of papers over for inspection. “But, God’s wrath, didna think we’d wound up near the Spanish Main. That is what this place is, isn’t it? Someplace along the Main?”

Del Campo briefly scanned the papers, then handed them to a junior officer behind him for further inspection. “You are in Panamá, sir.”

“What, Porto Bello?” Captain Bonnehill looked skeptical. “Nah, now you’re just joshing me!”

“I’m afraid not, Captain.”

Now Bonnehill looked furious, even frightened. “Well that puts us eight hundred miles from where we was supposed to—God’s wrath!” He pulled off his gloves and flung them into the sea, which shocked Del Campo with its lack of decorum. “Then we as good as lost this contract. Good as lost. Fuck!”

“Might I ask, what is it that you are transporting? Please, do not lie or omit anything, for we will soon find out anyway.”

“What? Oh, no, Captain. Why would I lie? I’ve only…that is…” Bonnehill suddenly drifted off, then looked around at Bateria de la Lanza with renewed interest. He licked his lips and said, “Is…is there any way…”

“Any way to what, Captain?”

“We’ve been at sea almost a year, Captain Del Campo. A year. And Miss Julia o’er there, she was meant to be in Port Royal five months ago. Her father most like believes she’s dead by now. It’s had her…most distressed.”

“I see.” Del Campo’s eyes drifted over to the woman.

“She’s been seasick for so long…she swore once she found land, she would ne’er leave it again. I canna leave her here, but…ah, you know women. She was desirous of some sturdy ground, at least for a night or two. So I let her come ashore—but perhaps that was unwise. A fort, all these soldiers, all these men…”

“My men are honourable, Captain Bonnehill. I assure you, if she comes ashore, she will be not be molested. If I have to, I would keep her safe in my personal quarters, while I slept elsewhere. We are gentlemen here, sir.”

The Englishman brightened again. “Well, that would be mighty kind o’ yeh, Captain. Mighty kind.”

“You did not answer my question. What are you carrying?”

Bonnehill scratched at his head. “Well, truth be told, our mission was manifold. Deliver the lady to her father, a man what works for East India, over in Port Royal. Also, we had spices and tobacco aplenty, so much we was overflowin’ with it, and kept barrels on our top deck. But we had to shift it around on deck when a ripe storm came, and much of it was washed overboard. And then the twelve-pounders, they were supposed to be a gift to an English privateer from a nobleman, and we were meant to get a bonus for that. More’s the pity. But soon we will—”

“Twelve-pounders?” said Del Campo, his interest suddenly piqued. “Did you say—”

“Yes, sir. Powerful things. Made in Menorca. Never once fired.”

Del Campo thought surely he was hearing this wrong. “Menorcans?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“You have two Menorca-made English twelve-pounder cannons on your ship?”

“We do,” said Bonnehill. “Fastened on stern and bow, for there wasn’t anywhere else to put ’em. Big bastards, they are. Their extra weight is likely what made our Elizabeth so difficult to steer in that storm.”

Del Campo maintained his composure, but now his attention was solely focused on the Elizabeth, anchored right here in their harbour, their tiny little inlet of Cuervo Cove. He almost wanted to laugh. Delivered straight to us, by God’s will alone. This poor little man and his pitiful little crew, they have no idea what they’ve just let slip.

English cannons were the superior weapon in naval warfare, astonishingly powerful and with the greatest range. Those made in Menorca were renowned for their consistency, ease-of-use, and being remarkably easy to clean, which was vital to any powerful cannon. Spain had managed to defeat many English ships, but it was exceedingly difficult to take them a prize, so they usually sank, making it impossible to recover their cannons. Some ships had been taken a prize, but without the factories on Menorca it was impossible to create identical copies. Spain had resorted to stealing whatever they could from the Royal Navy, to try and shore up their defences throughout this part of the world. Menorcans would be an exceptional thing to have for any fort.

Del Campo’s eyes drifted from the Elizabeth, over to the woman, “Miss Julia” is what Bonnehill called her, and he thought, Delivered right into my hands. Del Campo could no longer suppress a smile.

That’s when Captain Bonnehill surprised him again, by stepping up beside him and whispering, “Un sorbo de vino es todo lo que necesito para superar est mal tiempo.” Then he looked at Del Campo and nodded seriously.

Del Campo’s ability to mask his surprise would have been commendable to his superiors, and he looked down at the Englishman and whispered, “Pardon?”

“Did I say it right? Hope so. A friend of Narváez told me—”

“You said it correctly, señor. Narváez, you said?”

Bonnehill nodded in a way that indicated they ought to step away from the docks, away from the boats, away from Miss Julia. Del Campo followed his lead. Bonnehill spoke in a tone of confidence, “I must speak quickly, so that my men do not suspect. We was not blown off course—that is, we did experience a storm, but it was a convenient excuse for me to get us ‘lost’—when in fact I had planned to come here, Captain Del Campo.”

Del Campo winced. “What?”

“My crew doesn’t know it, but our arriving here was no accident.”

Del Campo cocked his head suspiciously, one hand touching a pistol.

Bonnehill hastened to add, “I knew exactly where this place was. The truth is, I was hired by East India Company to do all those things, and Miss Julia is indeed wanted in Port Royal by her father, but after I took the contract, your people in Madagascar found me at port.” He looked Del Campo in the eye. “I’ve led them all here. It’s all yours if you want. Yeh c’n even have the bloody ship, I don’t care, she’s not mine, I was only chartered to captain her. But I have debts back home, and I was assured by your people that handing this prize over, here, in Cuervo Cove, that I could find a reward, and a new life, in Porto Bello.”

Del Campo could not have been more shocked if Bonnehill had slapped him.

Bonnehill said, “I know people in Port Royal that work for you Spaniards. Spies you keep there. They speak of a, eh…una recompensa ro amigas.”

Del Campo smiled softly. “A reward between friends.” It had started out as an innocuous phrase spoken between business partners, but over the years had become the phrase most often used when Spain’s intelligence officers tried to guarantee the safety of any person willing to betray England in service to Spain. And Spain tried never to go against that promise, lest word get out that Spain did not honour its promises to loyal spies. “I understand completely, Captain Bonnehill.”

“Then we have a deal? Yeh c’n have it all, and I get what it would be worth as a prize?”

“I believe we can find an accord.”

But even as he said it, Del Campo was looking for the trap. He had never been a fool. Indeed, he had sniffed out two moles in his own regiment over the years, and knew how wily England could be. Still, he could see no downside here, not if the cannons and cargo were all inspected and found to be in order. And that was no problem at all to check. “I will send out a small group of my men to inspect your Elizabeth.”

Bonnehill nodded eagerly. “Thankee, Captain. But I must press—do not take the ship outright. You are outnumbered on the ship—mostly Africans, but they are fearsome fighters and not keen on Spaniards, for that is who their former masters were. I would’ve preferred any sailors besides Negroes, but they was all I had to work with when I set sail. They keep a tight ship, though, maintain dog-watches and never miss a shift change.” He nodded grimly. “I suggest yeh send out a small party, as yeh said, to occupy it. Men who are doctors, ostensibly to attend to some of our sick and hungry. Make them all think yeh’re welcoming. Slowly, we can get some o’ the crew to come away for some shore leave. It’ll be easier to take the ship that way.”

“Thank you, Captain, but I have done this sort of thing before.” But not quite like this, Del Campo thought, looking at an English sloop-of-war that had just been delivered straight to his doorstep, with more treasures than he could have ever hoped for.

“You’ll need to be careful,” Bonnehill went on. “We’ve got a small detachment of militiamen on board.” He nodded toward the Elizabeth, where Del Campo could now see a man coming around to the starboard rail wearing the telltale red coat of the King’s Militia.

Well, that does complicate things.

“One more thing…the woman. Miss Julia. Take good care of her, I beg. She’s…delicate. She has known terrible abuse and her voice…it was nearly stolen from her. She speaks softly, so softly as yeh can barely hear her. Please, attend her well. Fetchin’ girl like her, she sometimes attracts the wrong sort o’ attention.”

Del Campo extended a hand. “You have my word as a gentleman, Captain. No harm shall come to her here.”

They shook.

Bonnehill said, “I think I shall go and tell them that you’ll be sendin’ a party back with us. Allay their fears and all, yeh know?”

“Of course.”

Del Campo watched him return to his boat, and saw the worried expression on the face of Miss Julia as Bonnehill explained what was happening. As he lied to them. For a moment, Miss Julia’s kerchief slipped, and Del Campo saw her soft red lips, her cheeks lightly coated in rouge, the rims of her eyes enhanced by dark, painted lines. He felt something stir in him again, but remembered his duty and turned to a lieutenant standing beside him and gave the order to arrange an away party.

But when Miss Julia stepped hesitantly off the boat, Del Campo made sure it was his hand that she took, and eased her onto the dock. “Miss Julia? I am Captain Santiago Del Campo. It is a pleasure to welcome you to Porto Bello.”

She muttered, barely above a whisper, “Thank you.” She hid her mouth sheepishly, her blue eyes blinking worriedly at all the fuss on the dock. And Del Campo believed he might have fallen in love with her right there, for he had never wanted to protect a creature more in his life.

Behind him, Captain Bonnehill, or Jenkins truly, wiped his hands on his jacket. His palms had been sweating since they set out from the Elizabeth, or the Hazard. Isaacson and Masters came aboard, and he introduced them as his first and second mates. They traded pleasantries with the captain, and accepted an invitation to dine with him later that night. Jenkins glanced over at Miss Julia, her humble eyes downcast, her hand still somehow in Del Campo’s.

That wasn’t supposed to happen, Jenkins thought.

The away party took their boats and rowed out to the Hazard. Jenkins had never been more exhilarated that something had gone right in all his life, and, looking up at the fortress built at many levels upon the cliff, he had never felt more like everything was bound to go wrong.

____

They decided to rest for the night, and to bring the twelve-pounders onto shore the very next day. Capitán Del Campo made it a priority to bring Miss Julia to his quarters straightaway, much to the delight of his superior, Major Alonso Solucio, who happened to return that day from a campaign deeper in the jungles of the Darién Gap. Major Solucio was a rigid-eyed man, his facial features etched from dark granite, and he was only too glad to be reunited with Porto Bello, for his excursion to suppress the natives had been disastrous, to the point he did not even wish to talk about it.

Del Campo introduced the major to Captain Bonnehill, his first and second mates, and to Miss Julia. The first thing Solucio noticed was, of course, the lovely woman who concealed her features almost all the time. Solucio’s wife had left Spain to join him in Porto Bello three years ago, but had died from flu. Now he found himself wanting companionship, and not with the normal doxies in Porto Bello. Bonnehill was only too keen to regale everyone with harrowing stories at dinner—stories about the storm that knocked them off course, stories about how he outran pirates in the Indian Ocean, stories about dealing with mutinies at sea.

While Bonnehill spoke, both Del Campo and Solucio tried to engage Miss Julia, but she would only ever whisper something like, “It was frightening. We are grateful to Captain Bonnehill for his bravery, and getting us this far.” It was so soft, barely audible, and that only intrigued the men more. For her eyes—those deep blue eyes, so much like the ocean—were so delicate, and so scared, they made a man want to do anything to allay their fears, to protect them, to invite them. And her eyes were all anyone ever got to see, for the kerchief concealed almost everything else.

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____

The crew aboard the Elizabeth were indeed majority Negro, and Del Campo was satisfied for the moment to allow them all to stay on board. Some of them did, however, appear most disturbed to see the two twelve-pounders being removed from the stern and bow. A couple of them even argued with Captain Bonnehill, who helped oversee the work. They shouted at him in broken English, saying that the payment they were meant to get for delivery of the cannons was most of the reason they’d signed on, and giving them to the Spaniards was a violation of the contract.

Capitán Del Campo watched Bonnehill masterfully deceive his own men, telling them that the Spaniards were going to pay them double for the cannons. But as he watched the cannons be slowly lowered onto the docks, Del Campo happened to glance west, along the shoreline, and saw Major Solucio walking beside Miss Julia. She wasn’t talking—Miss Julia never conversed openly—but the major was talking to her, his hands clasped behind him leisurely.

To Del Campo, it looked like a courtship. He was embarrassed at the unmanly pang of envy in his chest, and yet he could not deny its presence. The only way to take his mind off it was to focus on the cannons, and the work of getting them to shore.

____

The Elizabeth had been brought into dock for the offloading of the two cannons, but now the dock was needed for more Spanish vessels coming and going from the sea, many of which were in need of repair. So the Elizabeth was sailed back out to the mouth of the inlet, and allowed to drop anchor and remain there in Cuervo Cove, within view of the cliffside fort.

Captain Bonnehill, in full view of Capitán Del Campo and Major Solucio, convinced his crew that it was all right, that he was only going to be gone for a few days into Porto Bello. “I only need to see the city, see if they have the things we need to make the repairs Elizabeth requires.” He brought along his first and second mate, and left Elizabeth in the hands of a cabin boy named Gregson.

Del Campo and Solucio smiled privately to one another over that. To leave a sloop-of-war in the command of a boy was foolish, and that Bonnehill had convinced his crew it was a good idea was just too delicious to bear.

That night, Del Campo and Solucio sat privately together inside the main library at the fort, lounging in settees and drinking wine, while they discussed how best to stage an overthrow of the Elizabeth’s crew. Bonnehill had done them a service by setting it all up perfectly, now all they had to do was execute a plan. They also joked and spoke of home, and congratulated one another on their work here at Bateria de la Lanza. And at the end of the night, Solucio asked, “Miss Julia, how is she?”

Del Campo sloshed his wine around in his glass, and looked out the window at three distant moons, so distant as to be specks, like coins held twice again at arm’s length. One was red, the other two were yellow. The three moons had replaced the normal moon a few nights ago, but had so far caused no tidal disturbances. “How do you mean, Major?”

“She still seems so…solemn. Alone. I feel for her. She reminds me of my own daughter—you remember Esmeralda, she’s fourteen now, her last letters to me say she’s finally gotten over her stutter. In any case, I don’t like to see a young girl so alone. I think I shall have Miss Julia come stay at my villa. I have women servants around her age, they ought to be able to stimulate her. A lady needs another lady around to speak of womanly things, don’t you agree?”

“Of course, Major.”

“I would also like to have her in the study, from time to time. I believe I heard her mention she likes books. Hard to tell with her, poor girl speaks so softly as to scarcely be heard.”

Del Campo kept his composure. Sipped his wine. “Of course, Major.”

“I think she will like it at my villa,” Solucio said smiling.

“I’m sure she will.” Del Campo glanced out the window. One of the moons dissolved even as he was looking at it, as though it had only been a dream.

____

The story of Major Solucio’s campaign in the Darién Gap was painful even for him to discuss, but he told Captain Bonnehill about all of it on their next meeting, which was supper at his villa on the hill at the southern end of the cove. From his villa, one received a commanding view of both the cliffside fort—its rows of defensive cannons gleaming in a sun that finally made an appearance after five days absent—the docks along the beach, and the Elizabeth anchored at the inlet’s mouth.

Captain Bonnehill allowed Major Solucio to do most of the talking, and shivered visibly upon hearing his horrid tale of chasing cannibalistic natives through the jungles of the Gap. Half his men had died from some disease brought on by mosquitoes, and the other half had been driven mad by something they had seen in the water—upon a three-day stretch of sunless skies, they had been hunted by fleshless, man-shaped things that came out of the rivers. Doubtless, creatures born out of the Firmament Crisis, as it was being called in Spain.

“God’s wrath,” Bonnehill breathed. “But that must have wore yeh slap thin. It’s a wonder yeh’re even still alive, sir. Yeh must be an awfully keen leader and fighter, to have gotten through all o’ that.”

Solucio smiled graciously. It was good to have someone new to talk to, even if it was a dirty English merchanter. But Bonnehill’s bluntness had grown on the major, and the man’s eagerness to listen to the bawdy jokes Solucio had heard from his regiment always made him feel at home. Bonnehill had stories of his own, usually quite mundane, and his more exciting stories usually seemed embellished, but Solucio indulged him anyway. It was good to speak to someone who did not feel duty-bound to do so.

“My men have all been well trained,” Solucio guaranteed. “God knows, I leaned on them as much as they leaned on me.”

“You do them honour, sir, speakin’ of them so highly.”

“It’s true. It’s all true.” Solucio sighed grimly at the memories of the Darién Gap. Long days without any sunrise, with alien moons crisscrossing the sky at tremendous speeds, and constellations distorted almost beyond recognition. And all the way, ebon shapes flitting around in the dark, stalking them through the jungle. Sometimes a cannibal’s spear came out of nowhere and took one of his men, and other times something more foul crawled up out of the river, and dragged his men into the water.

He looked out at the three moons, presently sharing the same patch of open sky. “What do you think it is? All this. You English, you call it the Cataclismo.”

“The Cataclysm, yes, that’s what I’ve heard men say away in Port Royal and Nassau. That’s the official word Parliament is usin’. Some say they heard it from the Church.” Bonnehill shrugged and laughed mirthlessly. “But who knows? I heard tell once, from a very wise man, a true erudite, that there was supposedly one year without a summer—the Norsemen even called it that, ‘the Year Without Summer.’ Some volcano or other was said to be the blame. Caused the world to be blanketed in ash, no sunlight at all for a year or two. This was, I s’ppose, a thousand years ago or more.” He shrugged again, and stared out at the fort. “Looks like yeh’re about to have y’selves a fancy new set o’ cannons.”

“Mm?” Major Solucio lifted a quizzical brow, then followed Captain Bonnehill’s gesture out to the fort, where special cranes had been erected to lift the Menorcans up each level of the ramparts. Up the cliff they went. It would take a whole day just to raise them that high—taking them up the fort steps from the beach simply would not have worked. “Ah, sí. Yes, your gifts are just about to find a new home.”

“Which reminds me,” said Bonnehill, wiping sweat from his brow. It was powerfully humid. “An’ I don’t mean to be, er, indelicate, but I have been waiting these two weeks for—”

“Your payment, of course. It still hasn’t been seen to?”

“It hasn’t, Major, no.”

“Forgive me. This will not stand. I will see where the error is and have your money by tomorrow.”

“Thankee, Major. Yeh’ve all been very gracious hosts. I wonder if—oh! Miss Julia.”

The door had opened behind Solucio, but he had not heard the beautiful creature enter. She walked everywhere silently, drifting from corridor to corridor like a panther, rarely seen. He stood up now to receive her. “Señorita Julia, how are you this evening?”

The woman slouched and hid her words behind her mouth, in which she held a new handkerchief. She smiled shyly as she passed through the room, holding up a book. She spoke in a soft whisper, “Might I…borrow this book, sir?”

“Of course, you may. You don’t even need to ask.”

She curtseyed, and then left without another word.

“My God,” said Solucio. “What did they do to her, that she will not even let her face be seen? And that she would speak as though her words might attract the wrath of a wolf?”

“If I told yeh, Major, you wouldn’t like it. Trust me, sir.”

“Did you know she won’t even let my female servants go near her, not even to help dress or undress her?”

Bonnehill sighed wearily. “As I said, sir…yeh don’t want the story. Not the full one.”

At the very thought of someone harming Julia, the major’s fingers curled into fists. He tried to take his mind off it, and poured himself and Bonnehill more wine. They discussed the prominent positions he had in mind for the Menorcans, high up with the main battery, so that not only could their range be utilized, but gravity itself would lend power as the cannonballs descended.

“Glad to hear yeh like them, Major,” Bonnehill said, accepting his proffered wine. “Very glad to hear it.”

____

The twelve-pounders were inspected a second time when they reached the fifth level of the cliffside fort, and a third time before they were housed, and finally a fourth once they were slotted into their housing. The bore of each cannon was smooth and deep, and they did seem to have never once been fired, just as Bonnehill promised. That changed, however, when Capitán Del Campo ordered that each Menorcan be fired once each, to ensure that they worked.

There was some powerful recoil. More powerful than they’d expected, in fact, and the wheels came off each cannon. The housing of each cannon had also been severely damaged, fracturing in key places. This caused Del Campo some concern, for no one knew how to fix it in a trice. Until an engineer from the Elizabeth, a long-haired Frenchman who never gave him name, volunteered to help out. For a fee, the Frenchman claimed to be able to solve it in a day or two, as long as he had access to a proper smelter and smithee. He claimed to have worked out the problem of adapting smaller housing to larger cannons by using a unique metal pin and an ironwork contraption of his own design.

Two days later, it was done, the cannons were fired twice more each. The Elizabeth was moved farther out to sea and out of the direct path, allowing the cannoneers to find the full range of each Menorcan. “It’s astonishing power, Capitán!” said Del Campo’s gunnery-sergeant. “It can reach all the way out to the inlet’s mouth, and then some! Easily sixteen hundred yards! And very accurate! And the Frenchman is a genius. His work proved out, the cannons fire and spring back smartly. No damage to their housing at all.”

The gunnery crew were all excited, and wanted to fire more, if only to pass the boredom of watching an inlet that rarely saw any visitors.

Sixteen hundred yards. Del Campo could hardly fathom it. And with their reload times, these Menorcans could pummel any invading ship six, maybe seven times before said ship even got within range to use its cannons. “Thank you, Sergeant. Give your men extra rations of rum tonight.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Del Campo found the Frenchman an hour later, sitting idly on the wall, his feet dangling hundreds of feet above the shore. He was gazing not down, but up, at the one red moon and the two yellow moons, all three racing across the sky at a speed that would make any bird jealous. Speaking of birds, a few of them fell out of the sky. Just plummeted down into the water. This had been happening a lot recently. Apparently the birds were confused by the fast-moving heavens, and it did something to their minds. Naturalists in Porto Bello discussed it daily in the coffee-houses. Del Campo had sat with them, listening to their theories on the firmament and its lasting effect on the World.

Del Campo shook the Frenchman’s hand and said, “You are a credit to your country, my friend. And a credit to engineers everywhere.”

The Frenchman smiled and held Del Campo’s hand a moment too long. “I know the arrangement you have with Bonnehill, monsieur.” There was a tinge of malice, but also humour. It took Del Campo off his guard. “I am not stupid like the Negroes. I expect to be paid, too, like an una recompensa ro amigas, or however you say it.” He leaned in. “Bonnehill does not control the crew like he thinks he does. The Negroes are beginning to get suspicious. They’re asking, ‘Why haven’t we left yet?’ But I know the reason. Bonnehill made a deal with you. Well, if you don’t make a deal with me, and soon, the Elizabeth will sail away from here and there goes your prize ship. That isn’t a threat—the Africans will sail from here before you have enough people ready to overwhelm them.”

A moment passed between them. One of the moons—the red one—briefly eclipsed the sun, bringing on a fifteen-second darkness, during which the Frenchman held Del Campo’s gaze.

“How can you help?” Del Campo finally said.

The Frenchman smiled. “I can convince at least half of them to leave. Then your men should be able to handle the rest.”

“I see. And how will you convince them?”

The Frenchman swung his feet back over the wall, and sauntered away. “I am very persuasive, monsieur. Can we go somewhere private to discuss my fee?”

____

The ball was held on 1 January, 1717, at the Gran Salón, in the glass-enclosed solarium that stretched over an acre outside of Porto Bello, done up in a mock Parisian style that laboured to proclaim its importance to Porto Bello. It had the chrysalis of a chapel at one edge of the property, half-built with scaffolding all around its stone edifice. There were artefacts assembled in a gallery, including curios from Ancient Rome and Egypt. A bas-relief of men building some old great temple hung from a wall and attracted almost as much attention as the crisscrossing moons. There was Madeira wine and French cheeses, fresh cherries and caviar, chocolates, an enormous roast pig on a spit, and slabs of freshly butchered veal arrayed around bowls of tropical fruit.

This was extreme extravagance, especially since the Long Nights had caused some crops to fail.

The ball inside was being attended by the usual neophytes. High-ranking officers who had used treasures seized from English ships to buy their way into high society, as well as all of King Philip’s senior appointees to the Viceroyalty of New Granada, clustered together in the main ballroom and on balconies. The cause for the ball was manifold: to celebrate the arrival of the Menorcan cannons, to welcome the New Year, to congratulate Juan Felix Domínguez on his first year as governor, and, of course, Major Solucio’s fiftieth birthday. The red moon was high above the solarium, which was finally finished the month before by the great architect Hernando Abalos. The three moons each occupied a window and crisscrossed above the attendees’ heads as they pointed and “ooohed” and “ahhhed.”

Captain Bonnehill was delighted to have been invited, and attended in his finest frock coat, walking among the ladies with long, flowing dresses that would have dragged on the floor if not for their attendants walking behind carrying the hem. Bonnehill was a minor celebrity, for Major Solucio had him retell his stories of getting lost at sea and talk about the power of the Menorcans. He was the only Englishman in Porto Bello to have been welcomed as a friend in a long time.

Musicians in brushed frock coats sat with cellos, fiddles, flutes, and drums, and played silvery, arabesque tunes that wove through the jovial crowd. Gentlemen and ladies danced beneath the spinning heavens, a new tradition since the advent of the Cataclysm. Indeed, new dances were created to be performed specifically when a moon went racing overhead.

The Gran Salón was a place of vast halls with marble floors and fine paintings and sculptures brought over from Spain, and down each hall you could find multiple doors that led into private areas, into small salóns that had food from the finest chefs in Porto Bello, or else a lecture, a feast for the intellectuals who desired robust discussion on the day’s most pressing topics. Politics, religion, science, warfare, and the natural world.

The topic de rigueur, at all times, was the Firmament Crisis. And there were no more sought-after speakers on the topic than the benandanti. Once, they would have been witches, vilified and condemned for their occult practices. Now the women were invited into houses of nobility, wearing their white grinning masks, and they read from ancient scriptures that existed in no holy book anywhere.

Captain Bonnehill maneuvered through these crowds, alighting on this group and alighting on that group, eavesdropping a bit before moving on.

“Did you know,” said one grey-bearded scholar, who had attracted an audience of a dozen nobles and their mistresses, “that the English call this thing plaguing them la Enfermedad. The Disease. As though there are no other diseases in the whole World. Indeed, I have colleagues who have visited London and seen this, eh, Tam they call it. Rivers of the plasm left over when the Diseased effectively die—though, there are many mysterious stages to the Disease, and some seem to imitate life.”

Captain Bonnehill glided on, listening to other scholars.

“I’ve heard this Tam is said to be a semi-liquid sludge,” said one eager lady, fanning herself. “And that it has strange properties. It can release blue sparks of light, almost like lightning, and it sometimes grows fingers that reach out to the living…” She trailed off when others began to laugh.

“Don’t make light of it,” said another scholar. “What the lady says is true. I have it on good authority, señorita, that the Tam does indeed seem to exhibit signs of life. In fact, there are those who say they hear the voices of their dead loved ones when they’re near it. Even dead enemies.”

Ladies were permitted to listen, as long as they were escorted by a man. At the back of one such room, Major Solucio stood close to Miss Julia. Her face was hidden demurely behind a bright-red fan, and she listened intently to a woman sermonize about what the benandanti believed had caused the Firmament Crisis.

Solucio remained an arm’s length from Miss Julia at all times, as any gentleman ought who was not the lady’s husband, and admired her from that distance. Her broad shoulders, her long hair which was the colour of dried autumn wheat, and which he still had not seen without the wide-brimmed hat. He imagined what her hair would look like on a pillow.

Just then, Julia’s attention was on a benandanti woman at the center of the room.

The benandanti witch was some Englishwoman who had been in Porto Bello for a month, and had become quite popular with the wives of the regiment officers that frequented the taverns. Governor Domínguez’s own wife was taken with her, and had personally invited her. The witch spoke of blood rituals to protect oneself against evil, and how women, specifically, could smear blood on their bared breasts and ward their souls, and the souls of others around them.

Even as the benandanti witch invited people around her table to commence the séance, Solucio’s eyes never drifted long from Julia. Later that night, when he had his fortune read by the witch beneath the red moon, Solucio hoped she would tell him he was bound to a marry a blonde Englishwoman.

What she said was, “Fire is in your future. And wealth. And…a woman with fair hair. Sorrow in your recent past. Much sorrow. But a fair-haired woman, soft-spoken, may alleviate this trouble. But another rival stands in your way. A suitor, I think? Yes…yes. A man of lower station, but still charismatic, and with great ambitions.”

Solucio was smiling. Until he looked back at Julia. She was walking out of the room, arm-in-arm with Capitán Santiago Andres Del Campo. He left rather quickly, and Anne Bonny, the witch, continued entertaining the rest of the room.

____

On the beach each day, Del Campo took units of twenty or thirty of his men down by the docks and ran them through their training. Hands clasped behind his back, he paced back and forth, watching the trainers correct the angle of a soldier’s partizan, showing how to adjust the grip to use the haft of the spear to deflect incoming attacks before bringing the tip down onto the enemy’s collarbone. And while he ran them through their courses, Del Campo watched as Miss Julia walked on the beach, usually alone, usually in a different dress.

Where does she get so many dresses? It must be Major Solucio’s servants. They must fetch her new clothes from Porto Bello every day.

Del Campo watched her walk alone in the sun, in the rain, and at night when high tide came in and the wind fumbled through the grass. She was sometimes joined by Captain Bonnehill, and sometimes she had a book with her. He would stare, ruminating on her whole being, curious as to what was the key to her heart.

The allure of her was the mystery. But also, his animal need. The things he thought about when he was alone at night in his bed…the things he thought about doing with her…

Perhaps it was because there were no other women at Bateria de la Lanza. Indeed, even when he did get the time to travel into town, there was almost no woman who even approached her feminine grace in all of Porto Bello. Miss Julia simply had no equal, not here, perhaps not anywhere.

Each day that he saw her on the beach he had to fight to maintain his focus on his men, making sure that their reload times were equal to the twenty-second standard he’d set for them. Most Spanish regiments were fine with the thirty-second standard, but Del Campo would not have it, and stood with a timepiece in his hand and counted every second while his Viejos drilled.

Their bayonet fighting techniques also had to be sharpened each day, and sometimes he even joined his men in full uniform to train, if only to keep his mind off the pale-skinned beauty that graced his shores and tormented his sleep.

____

“I know that we haven’t had much time to be alone, Miss Julia,” Del Campo said, as they came to a stop in front of her door one night. He released her arm, and looked at her. They were still in Major Solucio’s house, and he was guiding her back to her room. “But I must confess, I have held great affection for you since your arrival. My duties…they keep me very busy. And the major…I know he also has affections, which, I suspect, is why he brought you here. To his home. He is a good man, and I do not mean to impugn my superior—he’s been through so much since his wife passed—but I would not be able to live with myself if I did not at least confess how I feel.”

Those blue eyes. When they looked up at him, blinking in innocent confusion, it was almost all he could do to contain himself. Del Campo wanted to hold her, force her to lower her fan so that he could see what was hidden. He imagined she had some hideous scar left over from her tragedy, but he did not care. He sincerely did not. “I need you to know this because—”

“Before you do anything,” she whispered. “Before you say anything, I think we both should…take some time to gather our thoughts.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Del Campo said, matching her soft tones. He suddenly felt very foolish.

“Can you…?” Ever so lightly, she touched his arm. It was the first time she had ever done it.

“Yes? Anything, just ask.”

“Can you send for Captain Bonnehill? I would like to ask when we may leave.”

Del Campo nodded, deflated. “I believe he’s still downstairs with the major. I will tell him you asked for him.”

“Thank you. Goodnight, Captain. You are a good friend.”

“Goodnight, señorita.” He watched her go through the door. Watched it close. Hoped he hadn’t overstepped some unspoken boundary between himself and the major. Feared she would leave soon and never turn.

While Capitán Del Campo was slowly turned away from the door, John Laurier listened from the other side. When he heard the captain’s footsteps fade, he walked quickly over to the window, lit a lantern, and draped a towel over it. He stood by the window, lifting the lantern twice, then kept it draped, then flashed it twice more.

His window faced the mouth of Cuervo Cove, the inlet where Hazard rested. Looking out, he saw the response from Hazard. Okoa, or perhaps the cook Reginald, flashed a lantern from the rear windows of the captain’s quarters, and in the agreed-upon code. Everything was on schedule, they so far had not been assaulted or boarded by Del Campo’s people.

John walked over to the full-body mirror and removed his hat, and checked his makeup. It was arduous, getting up every morning early enough to dress himself, tediously going over his makeup, stuffing his corset or bodice with socks to create the illusion of a bosom, planning his day around how to best walk around the Gran Salón, the major’s villa, and the city of Porto Bello without being found out.

Exhausting, really.

But fun. And worth every moment of it.

Several knocks at the door. Three sharp ones, then two heavy ones, a pause, and three more sharp ones. John parted the door slightly and admitted Jenkins. “Captain Bonnehill,” John said, still practicing his soft, feminine voice. “How are we this evening?”

Jenkins doffed his hat, and walked over to the window to look out at the Hazard, framed distantly by three sets of moonlight. “I spoke with LaCroix,” he whispered. The man’s face was sweating. He looked frantic. “All’s ready upon the fort. And Akil came to shore yesterday with three men, and I told him to make ready on his end. But this doesn’t move forward unless you get it. So, did you? Get it?”

John reached into the fronds of his left sleeve, and produced the key he had lifted from Capitán Del Campo’s pocket.

Jenkins sighed heavily, and sat down. “Took you bloody long enough.”

“He doesn’t always have it on him,” John said. “But I knew he would tonight. I heard two of Solucio’s servants say they were once loaned out to Del Campo, and helped dress him. He’s always given the key during nights when he works half-duty, and will be needed back at the fort again after a formal occasion. He then returns it to the officer-on-watch.” He handed Jenkins the key.

Jenkins took out a small, palm-sized box, which looked to only hold tobacco, when in fact it held a bar of solid red wax. He put the key inside the box, closed it, pressed hard on the top, and removed the key. There was now a perfectly hollow impression of the key in the wax bar. Jenkins handed back the key. “Can you get it back in his pocket tonight?”

John smiled. “I’m sure I can conjure a reason to be back in his presence. He will accept almost any excuse.” He pointed to the box in Jenkins’s hand. “Get that to LaCroix tonight. I want a copy made no later than morning.”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult. The smithee Del Campo introduced him to is reliable, and the smelter seems good enough to do the job. He won’t ask questions, not if you give him a hundred solid doubloons.”

John looked himself in the mirror. “I’ve just signaled the Hazard. Okoa will have the men ready.”

“Just hope he does. Because if we don’t have a way out of this place, we don’t ever leave. Not ever. Straight to a Porto Bello dungeon for us, Captain, then on to Fiddler’s Green. That fort…I’ve tried to see every inch of it, and it’s monstrous. A damn labyrinth. I’ve walked it many times while chatting up Solucio, and I can hardly map it all out in my head—”

“LaCroix and I have done all that.”

“And this game you’re playin’. The one with Del Campo and Solucio…”

“Speak your mind.”

“It wasn’t part o’ the original plan, is all.”

“An unforeseen bit of luck. I didn’t anticipate they would both take such keen interest in Miss Julia—I had only planned to get close enough to kill the man and take the key, but this way is less messy, and provides us greater opportunities to infiltrate more corridors of power. A quieter approach. But I saw an opportunity to charm both men, and it has expanded my plans. You have to admit, I’ve exceeded myself as an impostor.” He added, “And, of course, Anne’s turn as an actress is a revelation. She’s doing an excellent job out there. She makes a very good witch.”

“If they find out she’s not a real benandanti—”

“She knows what she’s doing. She knows enough about the occult—she’s into that blood ritual nonsense that King Louis’s Court likes. These Spaniards don’t know the difference between that and a true benandanti. And besides, that ursula in Stratham gave her enough to think about.” John looked over his shoulder at Jenkins. “And you’re quite the actor as well, Captain Bonnehill. You’ve completely surprised me.”

“These halls are filled with bloody-minded guards, if any one of them discovers who—”

“We’re almost there, my friend. Just be patient, and keep your courage.”

Jenkins went on, as though not hearing the Ladyman, “And did you see how those soldiers train on the beach? With them halberds and those—what-do-you-call-ems? Partizans? Them be cunning lads, Cap’n. Cunning killers.” He wiped his brow again. “I know you don’t like religious talk, but I pray to fuckin’ God you know what you’re doing. We’ve placed all our highest hopes in this scheme of yours, and I’ve defended you to the men that doubted you. This had better work.”

“Believe me, Captain Bonnehill, by this time tomorrow, there will be no one left to defend Porto Bello.” He reached into his armoire, took out a handwritten letter, and said, “Deliver this to Major Solucio for me, if you would please.”

“What’s in it?”

John looked back at the mirror, at his reflection. “The match we need to light the fuse.”

____

The next night, the sun set, and it did not rise again. The two yellow moons vanished and the red moon lingered on the horizon. It was to be a Long Night.